Aliens: Collective
by Dance of the Dead
Summary: This will be a series of flash fiction (300 - 1000w) based on characters within the Aliens Franchise; most commonly from the second film. They do not link together as a single story, so please don't read them as such. This is a series of prompts I am working on with author Lucreace - Longer Prompts get their own submissions.
1. Suitable Warmth - Bishop

He was alone, in the vast, nothingness of space. The only breathing entity in a ship filled with emptiness. Yet he felt no chagrin for the fact, it was all part of his job. To be custodian over the humans sleeping in their stasis tubes. Their lives in his care, it was something that he could feel a small measure of pride over; should he have access to such emotions. Making sure their simple, resting needs were taken care off. Warmth, sustenance, adequate rest; it was all down to him.

All thanks to his programmed ability to outlive the humans in his care, not needing the basics that they did. Able to survive years of being alone, without need while his charges slept away the time without ageing. He ran a hand through his tawny hair as he carefully monitored the read outs on screen before him. The vibrant green colour clear on the dark background. There was one tube that seemed to be having a heat issue during this trip. Warmth kept dropping out of it. Bishop frowned lightly to what he was reading, the name of the occupant sticking in his mind; Vasquez. A trigger-happy, loose canon.

Deft fingers worked the keyboard in front of him, making a further programmed adjustments to the tube. He didn't want to have to wake the Private from her hypersleep, just to move her but if the tube wasn't giving her suitable warmth then he would have no choice. He punched in a new temperature for the stasis tube and the computer clicked approval for the change. But the artificial person wasn't entirely happy with the outcome. He moved away from the console and stood at the foot of the tube, staring blankly at it as he came to his decision.

The room was dark aside from the small illuminations coming from buttons in front of him attached to the end of the tubes. They lit his face in an odd, eerie manner. He pressed a few of the buttons and gave a quick glance at the read-out that blinked. Once more he frowned, the temperature having dropped suddenly again. There was no other choice; he had to move her before the stasis tube did her vitals any damage. She wouldn't be happy about the choice, but it was preferable to having her harmed; something that he couldn't and wouldn't allow.


	2. Fight or Flight - Vasquez & Drake

Drake picked his way through the busy mess hall. In one hand he held a tray flat, on top of which was some sort of smush that they tried to pass off as food. In the other hand, which was carefully concealed underneath the try, he held two bottles of beer. He gave one of his squadies a nod before making his way out of the open fire exit, his demeanour casual; not drawing any attention to himself. Outside Vasquez was sitting with her legs dangling over the side of the high-rise building, her arms resting on the metal safety fence.

"You get it?" She asked as she heard Drakes heavy footsteps behind her.

Drake flashed her a perfect grin before sitting down next to her, moving the tray to reveal the dark brown bottles.

"_Tipo_, you're amazing!" Vasquez exclaimed to her team mate, taking on of the bottles from her.

"Shipping out tomorrow," Drake stated grumpily, as always, unhappy with his lot in the Corps.

"Yah, some shit-hole mission somewhere," Vasquez agreed although she didn't sound as half as unhappy as her statement made it out to be.

"You remember that time, the time before the first time we we're shipping?" Drake asked, his words somewhat vague but the two had been friends long enough to know exactly what the other was on about.

Vasquez laughed and she raised her bottle for Drake to clink with his. "Wouldn't forget it for the world," she assured her friend.

Vasquez and Drake had met in juvenile prison and after butting heads a couple of times they hit it off as friends and once they'd signed up for the USCM; instead of remaining in prison for their murder sentences, the two were near inseparable. The two had trained together and chosent he same specialisms within the Corps; Vasquez loved it, Drake hated it, but it didn't matter they were in for the ride together regardless.

A younger Vasquez nudged her close friend and uttered, "You distract him," her eyes flitted to their Drill Sergeant, a man in his forties with a reseeding hair line and the foulest mouth she'd ever heard and considering her street life upbringing that was saying something.

"What?" Drake asked with a slight furrow to his brow.

"I heard, DS Morris has this stash of the good stuff in his locker, distract him," Vasquez urged her friend once more with a slight shove, more or less pushing her fellow recruit in front of their superior.

"Um.. Sir... I was wondering..." Drake stammered, he narrowly resisted the temptation to look over towards where Vasquez had been.

She was already on the move however, confidently creeping out of her place behind some storage boxes and towards their bunk room. She passed close by where Drake and DS Morris were already in the heat of some indepth discussion about some military hardware. She came so close to him that she knocked into his arm and instantly she cringed and uttered; _"L__o siento" _Came the brief apology in her native language.

The moment she touched him, she'd stolen the keys for his office at the end of their bunk room. "Watch it," DS Morris shouted to Vasquez, but she had already made herself scarce, having snatched her prize.

Vasquez put the keys into her pockets, what she was doing could get her into the biggest world of shit, but it was their last day in basic training. DS Morris wouldn't ever see them again, let along have time enough to realise who it was that had stolen some of his precious alcohol. They had reason to celebrate and Vasquez was sure as damn they'd be doing so! Hell, she'd even share with some of their other squad mates if they wanted to join in! Except Hudson, he was a jerk.

She found her way to their bunk room, giving Spunkmeyer a wave of her hand as she passed him on her way to the office at the end of the row of beds. She breathed an inward sigh of relief that Hicks wasn't laying on his bed. The guy could be a real stick in the ass at times! The key took a little persuading to get in place and turn and she gave a subtle glance towards Spunkmeyer, but he looked non-the-wiser to what she was doing. Good.

She let herself into the office and took no time in finding the tantalus that housed DS Morris precious whiskey. She hadn't been expecting it to be locked away in full view on his desk. She breathed a curse, looking at the concealed temptation. She picked her way through the keys on the chain she'd stolen, but none of them matched the intricate design of the antique woodwork. Vasquez looked around the room quickly, feeling a rising sense of panic for being caught, to see if there was a likely hiding place for the key. She drew a blank, but opened a few draws in the desk, rummaging around the papers to see if they were hiding the key. In the third draw, rather than a key she found another bottle, certainly much cheaper than the offering in the tantalus, but no less precious to the recruit. She pushed the bottle into the large pocket of her trousers, slung the keys on the desk and as calmly as she could muster pulled the office door behind her as she fled the scene of her crimes. She looked along the beds to see DS Morris heading towards his office with Drake in tow behind him, the look on her friends face was one of utter dread when he saw Vasquez.

"What the hell are you two doing in here, lazy assholes, get to work!" DS Morris shouted looking at both Vasquez and Spunkmeyer.

"Sir, Yes Sir," Vasquez shouted to the sergeant.

Spunkmeyer mumbled something and moved from where he had been lazing and was more or less pushed from the bunk room by Vasquez, desperate to get away from DS Morris' scrutiny. When she got to the end of the row of beds she looked back to Drake and frowned questioning what he was doing. She was returned with a small shrug of the shoulder and a slight shake of the head. Vasquez blew him off with a quick flap of the hand and made her exit. Behind Drake she could see DS Morris looking for his keys but escaped before she saw the details unrevel.

Vasquez was sat on a patch of grass with Spunkmeyer, passing the bottle between them and laughing about something by the time Drake got free from DS Morris. He slumped down next to them and pulled the bottle more or less from Spunkmeyes mouth and took a long, well deserved swig from the contents. The drink was warming and the strong alcohol burned down his throat. It wasn't a nice drink, but the strength of it hit him hard. He'd need the courage from the alcohol.

"What?" Vasquez asked him, knowing the look on his face meant trouble.

"Might have just signed us up for Smart-gun operation training," he confessed instantly.

Vasquez punched him on the arm and his hand moved to comfort the spot of the impact. "You're kidding me!?" She exclaimed and Drake couldn't tell if she was happy about it or not.

"Couldn't think of anything else to ask DS." Drake added. "Don't pull that shit again," he chastised, taking another swig.

"You love it," Vasquez replied, swiping the bottle from him and giving him a playful wink.

"It wasn't worth it," Drake said about the memory. "That shit was vile."

Vasquez shrugged. "Got us some kick-ass 'ware though," she stated. She loved being a Smart-gun operator, it made her feel alive in the heat of battle.

"And the lashes hurt," Drake complained.

Vasquez shrugged once again. DS Morris had caught them and punished them, just like he had done countless years before this one. There was always some recruit that wanted to try their luck the day before they were due to go on their first mission. This year was no exception. He had however, thanked Vasquez for not stealing his tantalus as it was a collectible and worth a lot of money; which was only shadowed for it's sentimental value.

"Hasn't stopped you," Vasquez returned, taking another swig. Drake held out his bottle for her to clash hers against and she did so with something of a smile on her face. She'd taught him well.


End file.
